


take you down a peg

by aesc, Siria



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Genderswap, Kink, Other, Pegging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-17
Updated: 2009-10-17
Packaged: 2017-10-03 18:52:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aesc/pseuds/aesc, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siria/pseuds/Siria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She has talked him into all sort of things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take you down a peg

**Author's Note:**

> I believe this is technically an AU of an AU of an AU 'verse that Aitch and I have been writing in for a while. :D For the purposes of this fic, all you need to know is that Meredith's always been female, she's a linguist, and she and John have been together for some time.

She has talked him into all sort of things—being tied up while she straddles him, fucking herself on him, or while she finger-fucks him with patient care and sucks his cock; making him sit against the wall, fingers digging into its intricate copper tracery while she lies on the bed and fucks herself on her fingers, making him watch but not letting him touch. Meredith is as forceful and pushy in the bedroom as she is in the labs, her hands as certain when she splays him out on the bed-sheets as they are when they trace the outline of Ancient text carved into some new-found artefact—and maybe it's that confidence which has persuaded John into this, too.

She doesn't need ropes to keep him on his knees in front of her now; Meredith's voice, uncharacteristically hushed, is enough to make him want to kneel there while he fastens the strap-on onto her. His fingers are trembling, and already his sides are heaving with each breath. Meredith's aware of that, John can tell, and maybe that's why she reaches down and touches it—strokes the black dildo with the same flick of her wrist that she uses with him. Her mouth has a wry twist to it; John doesn't know if it's because she's planning what she's going to do to him, or if it's because she can see how much he's aching for it—thinking of what it will feel like with Meredith pressed along his back, her belly and breasts sliding slickly over him, her buried inside him, fucking him.

She runs her fingers through his hair, the ragged edges of her absently chewed fingernails catching on the strands, and looks down at him. Meredith asks him if he's ever done this before. "I bet you have, John," she says in the same voice she uses when she's hypothesising idly with Jackson, her blunt nails scraping over his scalp and making him shiver. "Not with a woman, maybe, but I'm sure you're good at sucking cock. Show me." Meredith rubs the head of her cock against his mouth.

John shudders and nods. She's right, he has—but it's never been like this, he's never opened his mouth and inhaled the scene of Meredith's fresh sweat and the leather of the harness. With her, it's all new, and John licks at the latex head of the cock. He wishes it tasted like her instead of synthetic plastic, but the weight of it feels good in his mouth and he takes her in anyway, the width of it a pleasant stretch. John doesn't think he'll be able to take it deep, not for a while, but the pressure of it is still enough to make Meredith sigh and run approving fingers through John's hair.

He reaches up with one hand and flicks on the little vibrator that sits against Meredith's clit, loving the little gasp that pulls out of her; he presses the heel of his other hand against his cock. She tugs lightly on his hair with a hand that is now unsteady before letting her fingers trail down to stroke his cheeks. John shudders and moans around the cock in his mouth, losing his rhythm for a moment, because god, that's what he does when Meredith sucks him—wanting to feel himself moving in her mouth—only now it's Meredith's long, slim fingers that are outlining the hard presence of the dildo on the other side of his cheek.

John gets lost in it—head tilted back, eyes closed, blood pulsing with the adrenaline-quick buzz that always comes with sucking cock—and he's so close to coming into his own cupped hand that he can only make the smallest noise of protest in the back of his throat when Meredith pulls away. "I know," she says gently, "I know," she says, stroking his face, "but it's time for me to fuck you now."

He nods hazily, drugged out on the rhythm and the scent of her, and Meredith tugs him to his feet so that she can kiss him. It's awkward with the strap-on between them, with the slick latex rubbing against his own cock; surprising with Meredith's breasts pressed hard against him. She licks at his mouth, biting at his lower lip, allowing him to be just as rough with her in return until she pulls back and whispers hoarsely for him to get onto the bed. "All fours, please," she says, as matter-of-fact as if she's asking him to pass the salt in the mess hall.

He'd gotten himself ready for her earlier, worked himself open with blunt, impatient fingers, slicked himself so that he'd be just right for her to slide into; he can tell from the little noise that she makes that Meredith's pleased by that, that it turns her on. "Next time," she says, running a possessive hand down the curve of his spine, "I'm going to watch you do that."

John shivers hard at both her touch and her words, and at another promise she makes while she traces him with a slick and curious finger: "I'll do this another time; suck you and fuck you with my fingers before I fuck you with this." He moans, head bowed low, because he's never managed to tell her what he really wants in more than inarticulate half-syllables, and yet Meredith's still giving it to him; he can feel it, the blunt pressure of her suddenly there, pushing into him, and John cants his hips, pushing back.

Meredith leans in over him, spreading herself out over his back so that she can bite at the flat wings of his shoulder blades while she moves inside him. Her thrusts are shallow at first, and her breasts brush against his back; the feel of her nipples hard against his sweat-damp skin is unbearably erotic, and John's skin feels too hot, too tight all over. "Please," he manages, "I—"

"You do this to me sometimes," she whispers, rough voice and the callused skin of her palms roaming over the hairy skin of his belly, "when I beg you to go slow." She twists her hips carefully, so close, so far, pulls out, "and all I can think is how thick you are inside me, how hard you are. How I want you to fuck me until I can't think anymore." Meredith moves a little deeper now; despite the years John has spent training his body to keep him whole, keep him safe, the slight weight of her on top of him is keeping him still, and what does that say of them? "More," John says, despite the way neurons are misfiring in his brain, forming words with a tongue gone thick and clumsy. "More."

"I think," Meredith says, carefully, consideringly, as blandly as if trying to decide between the stout tea or the peppermint, "that I don't want you verbal at all." She pulls out, almost all the way, so that the head of the dildo teases at the edge of him, and John feels achingly empty for the long moment before she thrusts her hips forward. It's a hard thrust, one that sends a jolt through his prostate and forces the air from his lungs; his eyes are watering and it's glorious. "Oh god," he pants, and she fucks him harder.

He can't think, _can't_, she's all around him and in him, fucking him, keeping him open to her; the drag of Meredith's cock over John's prostate makes his mind go white with each movement of her in him, and he's going more and more mindless and pliable with each steady, fierce thrust. He'd tell her anything like this, he thinks, promise her anything, want to do anything for her, and right now, that's not such a terrifying thought—and then Meredith's hand closes around his cock, almost cruelly tight at the base and John whimpers. He wants her to bring him off, desperately, but she only holds him, tight tight, teasing.

"What do you want?" she asks him, but he's not sure that he can make his body respond to his mind anymore—can't get his mouth to form words, can only bite his lip until he tastes a sharp, sweet burst of copper in his mouth. Meredith thrusts, faster and faster, but varying it now, adding in the occasional syncopated movement, shorter or longer strokes that have him gasping because he can't quite anticipate where the next bout of pleasure will come from.

"What do you want, John?" Meredith asks him, starting to work his cock with long, firm strokes, and John can only moan, so harshly that his throat aches with it. He's sure, from the quality of her voice, that she's grinning when she says, "Good boy."

If he weren't so far gone, he'd say something biting in reply, but she's stolen coherence from him, with the aggravating rhythm of her thrusts and her hand on his cock driving him up and up, her breasts brushing him, sweat-damp curls of blonde hair fanning down his side. John can only beg her with his body, fucking the fist she makes for him, pushing back into the cock she has buried inside him, all of him a ragged chant, saying _please, please, please_.

He feels it the moment she starts to come above him: her whole body shakes with it, a trembling that transmits itself to his and it thrills him that she can take so much pleasure from him, pleasure that makes the long muscles in her legs and arms quiver. Meredith's breath comes hot and damp against his shoulder, and it makes John want to spread his legs wider, makes him moan; she drops her head to bite at the nape of his neck and works his cock faster, still moving inside him, and says, "Now, John, now."

He doesn't need anything more—not her last driving thrust, not the flick of her finger over the head of his cock—he's there already, flung overboard, out and out, coming across his chest, the bed, shaking apart around the hard length of her still pressed home inside him, the croon of her voice telling him how beautiful he is like this.

She slips out of him, discards the strap-on and wipes him clean while John's still struggling to remember his own name. His scalp prickles with sweat and he feels pleasantly sore and well-fucked; when Meredith lies down next to him, John rolls blindly towards her and wraps himself around her, burying his nose in her hair and tangling their legs together. "Thank you," he tells her just before he falls asleep, wondering if she can feel how his heart is still racing in his chest, and she laughs, low and rich, and murmurs that she couldn't think of a better way to celebrate their engagement.


End file.
